


How Long

by forsakenoathkeeper



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, fem!reader - Freeform, reader is in her early 30s and works for mando on the razor crest, the child is named after kuiil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24675133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsakenoathkeeper/pseuds/forsakenoathkeeper
Summary: Mando interrupts your bar pickup. The tension finally boils over and you admit that you want each other.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 110





	How Long

Corsera was a fairly small planet, mostly dirt and shrubbery, with some distant temperate forests and grasslands. It was a flat planet. With almost no mountains and the landscape even, one could see across the horizon for miles. It made for a popular pitstop for transport ships and traders, even the occasional smuggler and bounty hunter, and lots of specialty farmers set up shop around here. The Razor Crest needed some fuel and you could always afford to go on a supply run, even for just a few things; and, a night not sleeping in outer space sounded pretty nice for a change: the ship would be still and quiet and you could hear the soft ambiance of nature, instead of the dead silence of space.

Of course, when you saw the bustling activity going on in the bazaar, your thoughts wandered to something more nefarious.

It had been six months and some odd days since you stumbled upon the Mandalorian’s ship, profusely bleeding and barely able to form coherent sentences. Originally, it was supposed to be temporary, when he offered you a job. You, a complete stranger, had risked your life to protect the kid – a complete stranger. He was a little green creature with big black eyes, one of the most innocent things you’d ever seen. You later learned was named Kuiil: after someone important, Mando had said. That was the only reason he trusted you, at first. You could fight well enough, not as good as him, was somewhat handy, also not as good as him, and, most importantly, you cared about the kid.

But, then, weeks and weeks went by. Soon enough, it was months, and you stayed, and Mando didn’t seem determined to get rid of you. You watched the kid when the Mandalorian was away, protected him when hunters came, even watched Mando’s back from time to time when the situation became overwhelming enough, and had accompanied him on a handful of quarries. You had picked each other up off the ground many times, stitched each other’s wounds, had even fallen asleep leaning against each other once or twice after particularly exhausting hunts. You didn’t know his name or where he came from, but you knew him: you knew that he was kind and considerate, respectful to a fault, honorable above all else, yet never afraid to kill, and dangerous. Oh so very dangerous.

At times, the Mandalorian made you feel feral, withered down to basic instincts. You probably should have felt shame for lusting after him so animalistically, like some uncivilized shebeast. When he silently demanded the attention of an entire room, with nothing but the intimidating glimmer of his beskar, it made something primal stir inside you. When he took down quarries twice his size, with wit and skill, the sight made you weak in the knees. Even the soft moments, such as catching him cradling Kuiil, lulling the youngling to sleep, left you warm and fuzzy inside.

It was difficult to keep it together when a gloved hand would harmlessly fall onto your shoulder or land on your back, nudging you along gently, or when his fingers would slide across yours as he handed you a blaster. Once or twice, when handing him Kuiil, your hands brushed against his forearms, where beskar was lacking, and felt the firm muscle beneath. Then, there was the time you accidentally came upon him wandering the ship without beskar covering his legs. He was knelt down, rearranging something in the ships under-wiring. He had asked you to hand him something; but, you were too busy admiring the way his muscles strained against the fabric of his clothes, and ended up handing him the wrong tool.

If the Mandalorian knew that you were ogling him like a horny teenager, he didn’t acknowledge it. At first, you pondered the possibility that he was celibate. Then there was the consideration that you were being arrogant: maybe he just wasn’t attracted to you. Or maybe he wasn’t attracted to humans, or females for that matter. But, in your journeys together, you came across a handful of women that contradicted that. There was the beautiful bartender on A’rion 4, who shamelessly asked Mando if he had time for a “visit”, as if you weren’t standing right there. Then, there was the bounty hunter you crossed on Vestrel. She was also pretty, an elegant zabrak with ruby red skin and long black hair. This one, at least, had the consideration to invite you to join them in some “fun”.

Both times, Mando had politely declined. You couldn’t fathom why. Sure, he was a very busy man these days, juggling bounties to stay financially stable, constantly on the run from hunters, and of course caring for the youngling. But, that didn’t mean that he didn’t have time to take someone beneath the sheets. Was he afraid of making you uncomfortable? Leaving you to watch his son while he pounded someone. The thought stirred up some jealously deep down, but you knew better: he wasn’t your boyfriend.

Regardless, it was your turn for some time off from babysitting. Mando didn’t ask where you were going when you stepped off the ship. For a second, it made you sad to think that he didn’t care. But, you told yourself that you were just being selfish, and marched right into town. As expected, just as the sun fell over the horizon line, the bazaar lit up spectacularly. It was illuminated in glorious lanterns, with unique faces all around. Bars were smart and sold their drinks glowing with fantastic, eye-catching shades of green, orange and red.

However, you wanted to be sober for this. Come hell or high water, you were going home with someone tonight: someone tall and handsome with great hands and a deep voice… hopefully. You had about six months worth of pent up sexual frustration to unfold on whatever willing victim stumbled upon you. It had been a while since you had laid with a man. At least a year, considering you were already six months dry when you boarded the Razor Crest in the first place. The thought made you feel uneasy, but also excited.

Truth be told, you were hoping to find someone like you: someone in their early 30s who looked a bit out of place and maybe a little lonely. You weren’t quite sure of the other two, but your eyes landed on someone who most certainly did look out of place. Of all the people to stumble upon in a bar, especially with you in the predicament you were in, of course there was a Mandalorian here.

The body shape suggested this Mandalorian was a male. He was seated at one of the tables, alone. His helm stood out in the crowd. It was probably once a glorious dark gunmetal shade, but was now faded and a little dirty, giving it a worn and experienced bit of character. The T of the visor was sharp and more angled than Mando’s. He was leaning back in his seat, looking comfortably rooted. His cloak had slipped back as a result and exposed a heavy blaster on his thigh, along with sheathed daggers on his calves. It shouldn’t have; but, the sight of him sitting there left your mouth dry.

It was too late by the time you realized that you were staring at him stupidly. He had already started moving. For a second, you thought he had located his quarry, until you realized that he was making a beeline for you. Nervously, you ripped your gaze away from him and towards the back bar, pretending you were contemplating a beverage besides sugar water. But, then, suddenly, “need something?” his modulated voice murmured to you, dangerously close. His voice wasn’t as soothing as Mando’s, but had the same mysterious rhythm to it. You didn’t turn your head for fear you would discover him leaning over you – something that you weren’t quite prepared for yet. You could see his beskar in the corner of your eye.

“Sorry for staring,” you replied, thankful that your voice came out smooth and controlled. “Used to it,” he uttered back. He was speaking quietly, allowing his helmet to handle the volume instead of his throat. Ah. That was something he had in common with Mando. It was like listening to someone on the other end of a radio. “You don’t look like you need a bounty hunter,” he pointed out, almost innocently. You felt yourself heat up at the accusation, realizing you were caught. Up until now, you had only ever come across one Mandalorian, the same exact one you had been traveling with. There was something oddly mystifying about running into another one.

…one who happened to realize why you were here, why you were staring. Well, this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? And who better than… a Mandalorian. You took a slow, relaxed, deep inhale and let it out carefully before turning to face him. Sure enough, mere inches away was his visor, focused on you solely. You could see your expression reflected back at you. You were pleased to say that you looked more in control than you felt.

He was leaning against the bar, standing right next to where you were seated, closer than what was necessary. He looked a little intimidating, something that you unfortunately liked. “Hmm – I kinda do, actually,” you replied sweetly, a small smile appearing on your face. “S’that so?” he asked, voice a little raspier than it was a second ago. You licked your lips and looked away suddenly, feeling your cheeks redden at his blatant flirting. Was being a hound a side effect of being a Mandalorian?

“I’m looking for someone,” you replied innocently, turning back to face him. He tilted his head a little, a gesture you had become quite familiar with after spending so much time with someone who always wore a helmet. You turned your body towards him so that your legs were visible and no longer hidden beneath the bar top. You were just wearing pants, but they hugged your thighs flatteringly. “I don’t know who, though. You see…” you trailed off and crossed your arms innocently over your chest for the sole purpose of squishing your breasts together. It looked more like you were in deep thought and that the sudden, dramatic cleavage was an accident. “I have a problem. Lookin’ for someone who can… fix it.”

You had whispered that last part, knowing damn well he could hear you through that helmet. Mando had accidentally proven to you that the Mandalorian helmets came with some useful technology, including advanced and focused hearing sensors. “Does sound like a job for’bounty hunter,” the stranger murmured back. You nodded a little, silently hoping that you weren’t as rusty as you felt, hoping that you were pulling this off. Did you look alluring? Or did you look like an idiot who fell on their head? “What kind’a problem?” he asked, harmless, as if he was taking on a bounty. Yet, there was some charm to his voice, implying he knew what you were asking. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“It’s been awhile,” you replied bashfully, hoping it would feed his ego. There was a quiet sound, like a breath, that came out uniquely through his modulator, like he had exhaled uneasily. “Would you rather talk about it on my ship?” he asked. You held your harmless smile on the outside; but, on the inside, you were smirking like a chesire cat. You felt like you had tossed out a fishing line and reeled in a big catch. You reached for him, intending to lay your hand on his bicep like a sweet damsel. However, something stopped you mid-air. “How about we talk about it on mine?” someone interrupted in a calm, very familiar, very modulated voice.

Your head snapped in the direction the voice was coming from, to see none other than Mando standing there, his visor focused solely on the other Mandalorian. “Mando!?” you shrieked, his nickname escaping you almost unwillingly. For a moment, you almost couldn’t believe he was actually standing there. The other Mandalorian didn’t hesitate to stand upright and step in close to Mando, sizing him up. You could hear him utter, lowly and threateningly, “what do you think you’re doing?” Oh, so that’s what he thought was going on here. You scrambled off the bar stool and got in between them, eyeing the other Mandalorian. “Relax. It’s not like that. I work for him,” you explained, hoping to stop a fight before it began.

He let out a huff and took a step back. “That doesn’t make you his property, toots.” Whatever flame you had been smoldering was long extinguished by now, not that you blamed the stranger at all. His gaze landed on Mando one last time, for just a second, before he shook his head a little and turned to leave. You didn’t bother trying to stop him. Once he disappeared into the crowd, you spun around to confront Mando, face twisted into a glare. “-the hell did you do that for?” you snarled at him, clearly not expecting an answer, before roughly brushing past him and heading for the exit.

It was bad enough that you were embarrassed; but, shamefully, you realized, the heat of your arousal hadn’t really subsided much at all. You were still painfully wound up tight, and now pissed off to add to the mixture. As soon as you exited the bar, you realized Mando was hot on your tail. You could hear a sound, like an annoyed grunt, staticky, a noise you had heard from him many times before. “What the hell were you doing?” he barked at you. “What do you think!?” you barked back, not caring if bystanders reacted. Luckily, the bazaar was packed and people were too busy to really give a damn.

“What if something happened to you?” he asked, grabbing your arm to stop you in your tracks. “Yeah, something would have happened – I would have gotten laid,” you snapped back, right in his face. “Why are you so upset? You trust your kin, don’t you?” you added on accusingly. That seemed to hit home, for Mando went silent, but was still holding your inner elbow to keep you from escaping. He stared at you, head lowering a few centimeters, giving away his uncertainty. “You know what – I have needs, Mando. -and I have every right to seek out some fucking attention. Just because I’m a woma-”

The speech you were prepared to unleash upon him was cut short when he asked, “why a Mandalorian?” You gawked at him, wondering why that mattered. “Of all the guys in that fucking bar – why the Mandalorian?” he asked again, a tone you had not heard from him before. Anger? Not exactly. It was something darker, that rattled you to the core. “What? Why – I don’t know. He was-…” you stuttered, trying to search your mind for the right answer. The truth was on the tip of your tongue; but, you feared the consequences if you spoke it. He was still staring, still holding your arm, expecting an answer. He was standing so close, towering over you menacingly, and time seemed to stop. “He was-…” you stuttered again.

You tore your eyes away from his visor, startled by the reflection of yourself staring back. You looked like a hot mess, cheeks flushed red and eyes glossed over with lust. Finally, Mando broke the tension with a simple, yet oh so heavy, question. “He was like me?” You gasped, loudly, at that question, and whipped your head back to face him. He inched in a little closer. “You went to that sleazy fucking bar to find someone to touch you,” he accused. He sounded heated, but not angry or venomous. Maybe, jealous? Or was that your desperation tricking you? “-and you were going to let him fuck you becau-” His onslaught made you burn with arousal and shame. “Yes,” you interrupted, breathing the word out like a heavy sigh. The confession felt like the weight of a planet had just been lifted off your chest.

“I couldn’t risk - risk you not feeling the same a-and things becoming uncomfortable between us,” you explained, whispering it like a deadly confession. Your breath fogged up his visor a little. Mando sighed like he was both relieved and injured. “I didn’t want to scare you – or take advantage…” he whispered back. His grip on your arm had loosened, but his fingers remained, his touch now softer. Your forehead bumped against his helmet gently. It was as close as you would get to a kiss, you realized deliriously. “Mando-” you began, breaking off when he gently nudged you forward, careful to not accidentally trip you. “Get back to the ship,” he all but growled. Somehow, your feet mindlessly obeyed and carried you to the ship, and he followed closely, like a wolf leading his prey back to his nest.

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You had barely made it up the ramp onto the Razor Crest and through the door when Mano descended upon you. As soon as it hissed shut, sealed, he pinned you against the door with minimal effort, his hips slotted against your behind, one hand enveloped in each of yours. Your chest smooshed against the metal of the crest and you arched your back, jutting your butt out invitingly. He rolled his hips against you, letting you feel his erection. You moaned shamelessly at the sensation and pushed back, silently asking for more. It felt like it hurt: he was throbbing, almost as hard as the beskar armor adorning his body, solid against your softness. It made you flutter with arousal, immensely pleased with the knowledge that he was as pent up as you were.

“-know how many times I’ve wanted to do this?” he whispered harshly against you, keeping you trapped and helpless against the door. “-when you’re repairing the Crest – walking around here – barely clothed-” he groaned, shamelessly rubbing his erection into the crevice between your cheeks, rubbing against you like a horny teenager. You leaned up on your toes to give him better access, placing him closer to your core. Most planets were hot, leaving you to work on the ship in the blazing heat of the sun; so, you often did so in just a sports bra and shorts. He would come back, dragging an unconscious quarry behind him, to catch you like that, soaking with sweat, clothes clinging to your body.

“-just wanna-” he continued between grunts and groans, like he could barely form a proper sentence. In that moment, you certainly couldn’t, between feeling his cock through his pants and being squished against the cold metal of the ship. He had completely enveloped you, surrounding you like a giant. “-bend you over and-” His hands came around to the front of your pants and made quick work of your belt. It clattered loudly on the metal floor when it crumbled between your feet. You nudged back against him and he backed off just enough to let you slip your pants down yourself, before stepping out of them, along with your shoes.

Before you could grab the hem of your underwear, he was pushing you forward again. Your hands scrambled to the door, less you fall face first. Mando’s dominant hand slid down your back, gently coercing you into arching for him. You did, obeying him mindlessly, arched over and panting against the metal of his ship. You adjusted your footing, setting your legs a little farther apart to invite him in. His fingers dipped into your underwear over the back of the hem, his hand curled over your core, and his middle digit slid into your folds. You whimpered at the sudden intrusion, surprised to find he had removed his glove at some point, and was touching you with a very bare, calloused hand.

Mando groaned, as if you had hurt him, when he realized how utterly soaked you were. Your folds were slippery and inviting, burning hot. His finger found your entrance and glided in with ease. You moaned shamelessly, standing up on your toes to invite him. He pumped his finger once, then twice, curled his digit slightly, and you cried out in ecstasy. “That’s right,” he whispered encouragingly, the sound wispy and insanely erotic through his modulator. “Is this what you needed? Some attention? My sweet girl – fuck – how long has it been since-?”

You cut him off with a particularly shameless mewl. “S-six months b-before you hah-hired m-me,” you stammered out. His finger was thicker and longer than yours, and far more talented. He effortlessly reached a place that made you see stars. Some feral part of you wondered if that was his trigger finger, and keened at the mere thought. It was obvious that he was multitasking: curling against the sweet spot inside you, and pressing against your walls to stretch you out. “Fuck,” he groaned out a sigh, sounding guilt ridden. “Forgive me. I’ll-” Mando paused when he heard the slippery wet sounds your womanhood was making as he pumped you. He seemed almost entranced by it.

“You b-better,” you growled out. There was a quiet thump amongst all the lewd sounds. You looked down to see his other glove discarded on the ground, just before his free hand came around and curled into your folds. He sought out your clit and curled against it expertly. “Oohhh!” you moaned into the wall, practically kissing it to silence yourself. Mando’s helmet fell against your upper back, right at the top of your spine. It was then that you realized he was panting a little. You could hear it, like staticky wisps through a radio.

“Gonna give,” he paused to take a breath, “-give it to you better than he would have.” You moaned shamelessly at that, bucking your hips like a wild animal in heat. “-make sure you feel it for days,” he threatened, yet it sounded so sweet and delicious to your ears. He had barely started, yet you already felt so fucked out, curled up on your toes, back arched, trying to stay in the same position so he could keep touching that spot just right.

Mando’s patience, however, ran out eventually, after some tantalizing minutes of touching you. He pulled his hands back carefully, grabbed your hips not so carefully, and manhandled you onto a nearby create. You landed on the top, on your back with a thump and a groan, legs dangling over the edge. He practically ripped your underwear down your legs. Delirious, you looked up in time to see him spread your thighs and look down. Your head fell back against the crate and you whimpered pathetically. You weren’t a virgin, nor shy, by any means. You weren’t one to be afraid in these types of situations. Yet, you felt some embarrassment being under the gaze of this powerful man, whose attention you had longed after for months.

He growled in a way that suggested he liked what he saw. It came through his modulator in such a strange way; yet, it made you tremble against the crate. “Don’t move,” he commanded in the same voice you had heard him command quarries countless times. You moaned in response, sultry and shameless, longing and desperate. He disappeared for only a moment, and returned holding your pants. You looked up at him through heavy lashes to see him digging through your pockets. The sight broke you out of the trance for just a moment.

You chuckled warmly when he fished out a small container of lube and tossed your pants back onto the ship’s floor. “How did you know I had that?” you asked him breathlessly, sounding quite enamored with his thoughtfulness, leaning back on the crate as he returned to stand between your thighs. It hadn’t made the moment any less arousing. If anything, it made your heart flutter with the knowledge that he wasn’t a kid. Such a small gesture proved he was a man, and knew how to care for a woman.

From where you laid, you couldn’t quite see what his hands were doing. Either Mando knew that and was taking his sweet time, or your concept of reality was distorted. You could hear the clicking of his belt as he undid it, following by the sound of it sliding through one pant loop - then a rattle as it dangled down and smacked into his thigh – then his zipper coming down – then some fabric rustling – before finally, fuck finally, you felt your prize brush against your thigh. His skin was soft, but the core was hard as steel, and burning hot like it was pulled right from the fire. All this while he stared down at you, his visor somehow managing to keep your gaze locked on his helmet.

“Fuck, Mando,” you groaned, your head tilting back for a second. Your cheek fell against the crate when you heard the wet slippery sounds of him lubing up his cock. “Look at me,” he commanded, a little softer this time. His hands ran down your inner thighs, coercing them into opening for him. You obeyed and he nudged himself in closer. You felt his tip press against your entrance as his hands slid around and took hold of your hips. Your legs wrapped around his waist, ignoring the discomfort when they met his beskar.

“You want it?” he murmured when his tip slightly breached your entrance tauntingly. All you could do was helplessly puff out a breath. Gods, he looked magnificent at this angle, staring down at you in a predatory stance, ready to lay claim to your body for the first time. He nudged his hips forward, just a bit, and his tip effortlessly slipped in. You willed yourself to relax, fluttering your eyes shut for a moment as you sprawled out. Mando stopped and whispered, “I said… Look at me.” His commanding voice was back, speaking to you like his next hunt, and fuck if that didn’t make your clit throb.

Your eyes opened and fell upon his helmet again. “Hm?” h hummed, teasing. You inhaled dryly before answering weakly, “-want you inside me.” He managed to stay still, mostly; but, you felt his hand briefly convulse, squeezing your thigh almost painfully. He nudged forward, inch by inch. Your whimpers echoed around the ship as he filled you, undoubtedly bigger than any other man before him.

It seemed like an eternity before his hips met yours and he was finally nuzzled to the brim in your core, forcing a small, almost inhuman sound from your throat. He filled you perfectly, sizeable enough to force your cunt to stretch to accommodate, but not to the point of pain. His hips shuddered a little, and you felt it against your thighs. His cock throbbed inside you, begging to be pleasured: that hurt a little, but you kept it to yourself. It seemed that he hadn’t laid with anyone in a long time, as well. The thought made you tremble with pride and arousal. “Waited for this – so long,” he groaned lowly, a confession that answered to your secret, burning desires. “Oh, Mando,” you moaned out, head lulling to the side.

He seemed to be okay with your disobedience for now, for he didn’t immediately scold you, but started moving. He was gripping your hips tightly, likely to keep himself in check. He was being slow and steady, sliding out most of the way before moving back in carefully, until your hips were flush. What a gentleman, you thought deliriously, arms uselessly laying limp above your head. When he was content with your stretch, he started to move a little more, just enough to have a decent rhythm going.

A wet sound, likely his lips smacking together, came through his modulator. It almost startled you. “Good?” he breathed, sounding hopeful. You whimpered uselessly, “m-mhm.” Your hands came down to briefly touch at his clothed forearms. Your eyes followed and took in the sight of him. He looked so put together; yet, you could feel how tightened his muscles were. He was restraining himself, and you felt so thankful for that. It had been awhile, and you definitely felt it.

Wanting to give him more – to please him more - you undid the ties on your blouse. It was difficult to concentrate on that while he kept his patient thrusting; but, eventually, you managed and parted the fabric before pushing it up to expose your bra. It was a stunning shade of red, soft as a cloud, and barely covered you properly. His head perked up a little at the side. Feeling majestic, your lips twitched a little into a smile. Your hands squeezed your mounds for a second before unclipping the bra at the center and pushing the fabric aside, exposing yourself to him in full.

He sighed loudly, expressing his appreciation. His eyes moved down your throat, noticing how it tensed every time he slid back inside you. Part of him wanted to wrap his hand around the delicate flesh there, to feel your breaths as he fucked them out of you. Would you like that? He sure hoped so. Your breasts were as beautiful as he had always imagined. They bounced with the momentum of his thrusts, nipples perky and begging to be touched. He wondered if you would like it if he touched them with gloved hands; the material was ribbed and would likely feel like nothing you had ever known. Your stomach was taut, muscle poking out from beneath soft, feminine flesh. He could see years of hard work and little rest. Strangely, he thought about how he wanted to bite you there, to leave behind the imprint of his teeth.

Mando’s eyes traveled down further. With his helmet covering his head, you couldn’t quite see where he was looking; however, when he looked down to where you were one, it suddenly became very obvious. “Fuck,” he growled, removing one hand off your hip to take purchase on your thigh. He pushed it back, bringing your knee closer to your chest. “Gods – look at you,” he panted. You let out a breathless whimper at the angle change, which brought him a little deeper, if such a thing was possible. “Fucking beautiful.” You could feel his eyes on you like a heavy weight. “M-mando,” you whimpered; yet, you found yourself trying to spread your legs for him, to give him more of what made him sound so pleased.

The sight of your unity was too beautiful for him to look away from just yet. Your lips were parted quite savagely by his member, flesh blossoming bright red and glistening with your combined juices and lube. Unable to hide, your pearl poked out dramatically, on full display. The sight of his own cock breaching your most sacred place was enough to nearly make him cum on the spot.

-and fuck it almost did.

His hand abruptly dropped from your thigh and roughly grasped the base of his cock, willing himself to calm the fuck down. He let out a quiet hiss, and it came out of his modulator distorted. Worried he was hurt, you muttered, “are you okay?” You leaned up on one elbow, eyes looking up at him hazily. In the process of grasping himself, he accidentally pulled his cock free from your folds, minus the tip, barely hooked on your entrance. You felt the loss to an almost painful degree, stretched, fluttering and longing to be filled again, not even remotely satisfied. Mando didn’t answer, but moved his hand back to the underside your thigh, pushing it up a little. He slid back into you almost impatiently, letting out a quiet groan that was drowned out by your pleasured cry.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured lowly, starting a pace that was a little more rushed than a moment ago. You moaned, letting your head fall back against the crate, arms dropping down, body limp and compliant. “H-how so?” you breathed out. “Feels too good,” he murmured back, sounding shameless. “Gods – I – I should be saying that,” you moaned back, lifting your hips a little to meet him. His hands maneuvered to your hips, lifting you up slightly, elevating you off the crate. His thumbs dug into the crevices at your waist while his fingers curled around your sides. His fingertips felt calloused, but his palms felt soft. You responded by wrapping your legs around his waist encouragingly, locking your bodies together in an erotic embrace.

Now, more leveled, everything seemed to fit perfectly into place. Every time he slid back in, to the hilt, where your hips met, bone on bone, he knocked the air from your lungs. You huffed breathlessly when he filled you, let out a shuddering moan when he slid out again, never quite leaving your cavern. Mando’s pace increased steadily, easing you into it, unless he was spearing you at a devilish pace. You could no longer move your hips to meet his. All you could do was lie there and take it. You expressed your approval with your voice and with the etchings of your face, twisted in such sinful ways.

“M-mando!” you cried out, not thinking clearly, not thinking of anything but his hands gripping your waist, his cock filling your core, and his visor, staring you down. One might think it was an emotionless encounter; but, his head was tilted slightly, drooping with a sort of carelessness that Mando simply never showed. You could hear his rushed breathing through his modulator: short, erotic gasps with brief, swallowed grunts occasionally peaking through.

You almost doubted this was even real. The Mandalorian, whom you had seen accomplish such amazing feats, was not only fucking you, but seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it. He even called you beautiful, stared down at you as if you were the most majestic woman to ever have crossed him. Suddenly, sharply, you let out a pathetic sound, a begging sound. “Please-!” was all you cried out, finding it difficult to speak properly. He seemed to understand, for his hand dipped down and splayed out on your lower abdomen. His thumb dipped between your parted lips and found your pearl.

“Ahh!” you practically screamed as he carefully pressed a circular pattern with the pad of his thumb. “S’at what you needed?” he whispered, voice slurred with pleasure. Gods you were soaked, seeping down onto his sack and likely leaving wet stains on his pants and underwear. The room echoed with the wet sounds of your unity. He roughly yanked your hips into his, slamming into you. “Mmhhgnnn!” you cried out through a clenched jaw. He pulled out halfway and did it again, dragging you in to meet his hips and slamming into you roughly. To say it felt good would be putting it lightly. He scratched an itch so deep inside you, that you had never realized you had before. It wasn’t just the longing to be fucked, it was the longing to be touched in the deepest of places.

“-feel me inside you?” his slurred voice whispered, low and breathless. This time, when he slammed into you again, you heard him make an almost inhuman groan. You wanted to hear that again, and so you pleaded, “again,” in the most fucked out voice you had ever heard from yourself. He obeyed, pulling out halfway before roughly shoving his cock back into you. You shuddered against the crate, willing yourself to be quiet so you could hear it. He groaned again, so deep and masculine, almost purring, letting the pleasure of taking you seep out from his lips. He was always so calculated, so in control, you fluttered with delight at the knowledge that he was being unguarded with you.

The Mandalorian paused for a second, and it seemed that he had caught on to what you were actually begging for. Your eyes fluttered open and gazed up at him, cloudy with lust and barely able to focus. For a brief second, you felt like a child caught doing something naughty. Maybe, he had accidentally shared something with you that he didn’t intend to. But, then, he started slamming into you, picking up the pace that he had left at a moment again. He was wild and frantic, barely sliding an inch out before crashing back into your slippery, wet heat.

He didn’t get lazy with his thumb, pressing it down and circling your clit expertly. For a moment, you lost track of where you ended and he began. Everything beneath you lit ablaze by his touch, insides burning hot with pleasure and pearl shooting sparks across your body. “Mando, m’gon’a’cum!” you cried out, a pleading voice. “Don’t stop – please!” you added on, delirious, almost quite literally out of your fucking mind, or more accurately having your mind fucked out of you. “Wouldn’t fuckin’dare,” he growled, sounding almost angry. You gasped in response, heated by his tone. “Wanna see it – wanna see you cum on my cock.”

He doesn’t relent, not for a second, somehow managing to keep some ungodly level of equilibrium in his momentum, hips and thumb moving in perfect unison. You can’t tell what kind of sounds you’re making, if you’re moaning or crying or screaming or some gurgled combination of all of the above. Whatever it is, Mando seems to like it, for he keeps fucking them out of you with dedication. He meant what he said, you realize, as he arched over you to get in a little closer. You could hear his labored breathing, knocking out of him in sync with his thrusts. Delirious, you moaned out, “wanna h-hear you cum.” Mando growled in response, and it made you tremble. “W-wanna feel you ca-cum inside me,” you added on, sounding so desperate that it bordered on the edge of insanity.

Your eyes, struggling to stay focused, peeled open and looked up. His helmet was taking up most of your view, his visor focused intently on you. You couldn’t see past it to look at the man underneath. It was dark and reflective, showing only yourself, looking like a ravenous whore beneath him. What pushed you over the edge was the knowledge that it was the Mandalorian who was taking in the sight of you like this. Your lips parted and your head tilted back, feeling the beginning of a match lighting in your core before it set off an explosion. He fucked you through it properly, until you started to feel the blossoming of soreness.

The hand that was perched above your folds shifted, reaching over you to grab the edge of the crate. He used it for momentum and rolled his hips, grinding into you possessively, essentially fucking you into the crate. Gods, even like he towered over you, his helmet falling into the space by your head. His thrusting hurt a little, your subsiding orgasm leaving you no cushioning from the reality that you had just been pummeled by a massive cock after a year with no sex. But, you didn’t want Mando to know that. He was chasing his own orgasm, rightfully deserved. “Yes,” you gasped encouragingly, whispering lowly. “Give it to me – please.”

That seemed to work, for he shuddered above you. You heard the delicious sound you had been craving. He gasped once, then moaned for a split second, before groaning through the rest of his orgasm. His hips continued, pummeling into you and spilling his seed until he was spent. Your cheeks burned red at the sensation. It felt like molten lava had been emptied into your cunt. It was the first time you had ever let a man finish inside you, first time you ever wanted it.

Panting, Mando sprawled one hand on the crate, by your head, and lifted himself up. He looked down at you, the tilt of his helmet suggesting he was pleased with himself. “Fuck,” he panted, shoulders trembling slightly, looking like he was struggling to not collapse. You couldn’t help it: you chuckled a little, just one, faint little sound. His keen ears, of course, caught it. “What’s so funny?” he asked, suddenly sounding not so out of breath enough to form a clear sentence. You chuckled again, fascinated that he sounded insulted.

“I always wondered how old you were – and, well-” “Trying to say something?” he interrupted, sounding more amused than insulted. “I’m glad, actually – not robbing the cradle,” you whispered, torn between sincerity and teasing, a warm smile appearing on your face. “For all you know, I might be,” he grunted, lifting himself up to stand properly. He carefully untangled your legs from his waist and looked down at his softening cock, slipped about halfway out of you. He tilted his hips back until he slipped out fully, admiring both the wonderful sound you made and the sight of his cum starting to drip out of you. “Fuck,” he uttered appreciatively, debating if he wanted to shove a digit inside and feel it slosh around.

When you leaned up into a seated position, he decided against it. You stretched your back, groaning as your muscles protested, and watched him carefully tuck his cock back into his pants and then fix his belt. “I should probably clean up,” you commented. Mando remained standing close, so much so that you reached up and placed your hands innocently on his chest, where he was protected by cold beskar. “Or you could just…” he began, trailing off for a second. “…walk around with my cum dripping out of you.”

You hummed thoughtfully, pleased with the feeling of your core aching with satisfaction. As expected, you felt sore; however, some deep, feral, uncivilized part of you was pleased with that. “Do you like that?” you asked, speaking casually despite the situation. “Mhm,” he hummed. One of his hands reached up to cup your cheek. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the feel of his skin bare against yours. You had seen just the slightest glimpse of his bare skin. It had a warm honey color to it, and left you curious to what the rest of him looked like.

“This,” he murmured, his thumb tracing along your cheek softly for a moment, before he dropped his hand. “Do you want it to be a one and done?” he asked. Your eyes widened slightly at this question. “Or something… something a little more?” The two of you sat in silence for a moment as you pondered what you wanted from him. On the surface, you were attracted to him, spurred on by basic instincts: he was strong, he was brave, and he subtly did things that drove you wild. But, at the same time, you adored the man he was deep down. He was gentle. He was kind.

“We can’t be lovers. I can never give you that, but… If this will continue, until we part ways, you will only be mine, and I will only be yours.” You smiled at his words. You respected his honesty, understanding where he was coming from. He was a dedicated Mandalorian. It was his religion, his way of life. He had a foundling, whom you had often regarded as his son, who’s life hung in the balance. He was dedicated to protecting Kuiil, a task that would likely take up the rest of his life.

“So… no more picking up Mandalorians in bars?” you asked, voice giving away that you were joking. Mando snorted and looked at you directly. “No,” he responded, firmly. “But, I kinda picked you up in that bar, sooo…” you replied, lips curling into a faint smirk. Mando stepped in a little closer, sizing you up. “I picked you up,” he corrected you. Your hands fell from him, and you crossed your arms over your chest, fawning insubordination. “Pffbt, please. You were the one who was jealous.”

He looked away, likely trying to decide how to respond to that. Your lips parted to continue your teasing when he suddenly looked back at you and uttered, “wasn’t gonna let him be your first Mandalorian.” You gawked at him for a second before smiling. “Good,” you whispered back. You nudged him slightly, silently beckoning him to step back so you could rise to your feet. “Bed time, Mando,” you groaned, your legs crying out as you tried to walk yourself to bed. “I’ll get my clothes in the morning – too tired.”

If there was something that the Mandalorian didn’t do often, it was use your real name. When he spoke it gently as you walked away, you stopped dead in your tracks. You spun around to face him, unsure what to expect. “My name…” he began, trailing away as he hesitated. “You must never speak it in front of anyone else – just when we’re alone,” he spoke lowly, sounding so serious that it almost frightened you. “You don’t have to,” you uttered back softly. Maybe he was thankful for that, or maybe he disagreed, for he whispered, “Din… Din Djarin.”

He spoke it with uncertainty, as if he almost doubted that it was his own name, as if he had nearly forgotten it, as if he didn’t really know who that person was. It made it clear to you that he didn’t share it often. You might have very well been the first in over a decade to hear it, one of very few to be trusted with the Mandalorian’s real name. For a moment, you feared you were going to cry.

“Good night, Din…”


End file.
